(no subject)

[aithne]

after long silence

The notebooks are dusty, and it takes
some time and scrap paper to discover
which of the pens have not yet dried out.

And then there is the matter of the words;
a slow sluggish river rises, obscuring subjects,
prepositions; verbs are jagged rocks
that do not bear thinking about. Meanings
are murky fish, mostly blind and shy.

The landscape is sere, seared by the constant sun
and the secret spaces are gasping for water.

But at the edge of the iron river, I find
the weeds growing, small flowers open,
and in the distance the thrumming of drums
speaking once more; finally, they
call to each other, the ground curling into itself,
the rains arriving at last.